A Fighting Chance
by I Fancy Hugh Dancy
Summary: Lieutenant Louise Virtue and her platoon come upon the West Georgia Correctional Facility. When met by resistance from the inhabitants within, they were prepared to fight for the fortification that could be their salvation from the living dead. What Louise later finds, however, was that she wasn't prepared for Daryl Dixon. Daryl/OC. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Meetings

**+ A FIGHTING CHANCE +**

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"_**Demons"**_

_**By: Imagine Dragons**_

_When the days are cold  
And the cards all fold  
And the saints we see  
Are all made of gold_

_When your dreams all fail  
And the ones we hail  
Are the worst of all  
And the blood's run stale_

_I want to hide the truth  
I want to shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There's nowhere we can hide  
No matter what we breed  
We still are made of greed  
This is my kingdom come  
This is my kingdom come_

_When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide  
Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide_

_When the curtain's call  
Is the last of all  
When the lights fade out  
All the sinners crawl  
So they dug your grave  
And the masquerade  
Will come calling out  
At the mess you made_

_Don't want to let you down  
But I am hell bound  
Though this is all for you  
Don't want to hide the truth_

_They say it's what you make  
I say it's up to fate  
It's woven in my soul  
I need to let you go  
Your eyes, they shine so bright  
I want to save their light  
I can't escape this now  
Unless you show me how_

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**Rating: **T – MA for language and adult situations.

**Genre:** Romance/Humour/Horror

**Summary: **Lieutenant Louise Virtue and her platoon come upon the West Georgia Correctional Facility. When met by resistance from the inhabitants within, they were prepared to fight for the fortification that could be their salvation from the living dead. What Louise later finds, however, was that she wasn't prepared for Daryl Dixon. Daryl/OC. Rated T-M.

**Disclaimer: **This story is pure fanfiction. I don't own any of the recognizable characters from the show "The Walking Dead".

**Author's Note: **Hello, lovely readers! I've been posting my fics on this site since 2003, but this is my first The Walking Dead fic! I'm also fairly new to the fandom. I haven't had much time to write this year, but seeing as I'm missing the show so much, have enlisted in the army, and have been reading Max Brooks' "World War Z," I had inspiration to jot this fic down. I'm just writing this as it comes, so I hope it turns out to be an enjoyable read and something to keep you entertained until the new season begins. Kind of fitting for the show, but this story has a life of its own. Sorry I'm not sorry! =) Let me know what you think. Can't wait to hear from you! Happy reading. xx IFHD

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**Chapter 1: Meetings**

I shielded my dark eyes from the blazing sun that currently peaked directly above us. Beads of sweat mercilessly trickled down my face and neck. Almost every inch of my army combat uniform was soaked and stained with blood and everything else from weeks of fighting and running. I shifted my dirtied helmet with my left forearm to see further down the road, though kept my right hand gripped tightly around my M16 rifle; force of habit, especially during the past few years. Thankfully, no sign of the Flesh Eaters so far. As I found a more comfortable seating position at the back of the humvee, I looked around at the seven men in my platoon with me as the armoured vehicle continued to trudge forward through deserted back streets.

We were fuckin' exhausted. Exhausted, beaten, hungry, and most of all, pissed off. I had tried to keep track of the time that we had fought and travelled together since the news of the outbreak, but ever since the outbreak spread - and overtook Fort Benning, Georgia, where our platoon was originally based - it had become more difficult to keep track of the days, weeks...

...months.

Something caught the corner of my eye then. For a split instant, I thought that a horde was in the distance, coming directly towards us. (No matter which direction our diminishing convoy went in, there were always hordes.) So when I took a second glance at what I was seeing in the horizon to my left - and subsequently recognized what the hell it really was - the now foreign feeling of elation rippled through me.

"Jason! Jason, stop the humvee!" I exclaimed while tapping the side of the humvee. This reaction effectively roused the men surrounding me to attention. To answer their questioning glances, I continued, "Greg, radio the rest of the convoy to halt for a second and look due northwest, about a quarter of a kilometer."

As Jason peered out of his side window and squinted his blue eyes, he breathed out, "Well, fuck me, Lou...you found yourself a prison."

I gave the youngin' a pat on his shoulder and a side smirk. "I've told you many times that I wouldn't fuck you if my life depended on it - even post-apocalypse - but in response to your latter statement, yes, it seems as though we've stumbled upon salvation, boys!"

Cries of "hoo-ah" sounded from the vehicle and Greg's walkie. As the miniature celebration continued and hope and morale were temporarily restored, I radioed my commander to ask our humvee to press forward on its own. "We don't know what threats are imminent in that place, Colonel," I reasoned, receiving acceding nods from my men. "I suggest we move in, while you guys hang tight and cover our asses."

After a few minutes of discussing the logistics of the movement forward, I received my request. We parked the vehicle near the main road to enter the West Georgia Correctional Facility. From our standpoint, we could already see a handful of undead zigzagging aimlessly through the main courtyard. "Fuck!" I hissed under my breath, hitting the side of the humvee. I immediately radioed in the Colonel. "We're outnumbered at least 5 to 1. And that's only from what I can see."

"Move in, Lieutenant Virtue." His calm, crackling voice replied. "You and your men secure the north perimeter and at least get us access to the gates. We'll move in on the south and east perimeters and destroy the sons of bitches there. Like you said, the prison's a perfect base - we need to take it."

I gave a nod. "Copy that." Handing the walkie back to Greg, I eyed each of the men in turn and commanded, "As usual, use your guns only as a last resort. Machete the fuck out of these assholes - that's our first priority. Is that clear?"

A unanimous "copy that, Lieutenant!" rang then.

We exited the vehicle one by one and spread out, with Jason driving slowly forward and Greg keeping the back door open in case we had to abort and get the hell out of there asap. As I pressed further to lock on my moaning, squelching targets, I could see a small creek surrounding the front part of the facility, almost acting like a moat. Veering off from the group to ensure the area was secure, I crossed a wooden bridge to the other side, now standing right in front of the outermost gates.

Just as I stepped off the bridge, a low voice drawled behind me:

"Drop yer weapon or ye'll find an arrow stickin' outta ya pretty soon."

_Fuck._

If there were two things that I knew in this world, it would be that I really needed to work on my sixth sense - or probably my hearing sense - and that, most of the time, humans were even more dangerous than the undead.

Well, actually, there are three things that I know.

The third being that I was a stubborn bitch.

I tensed my back, though made no move to stand down or release my weapon. I ventured a peek at the new threat through the corner of my eye while assessing the situation. The civilian man was tall, probably a few inches more than me, and was adorned in a sleeveless, green shirt and faded jeans. His flaming, squinted eyes were dark - almost as dark as his mussed hair. The state of his form told me that even though he had been through probably as much shit as the soldiers and I have, he still had the strength to pose a challenge in a fight. Admittedly, the asshole had looks, too. Though what struck me the most, given the circumstances, was that he had a fuckin' crossbow pointed right in my face.

A few silent moments passed, and I still didn't make a move to stand down. He repeated the command to drop my weapon, with a little more authority this time. _Still not enough to rattle me_, _big boy_, I thought. I gave out a derisive snort and even rolled my eyes. "Look, after all the shit I've been through for so many years, do you _really_ think that your stupid little crossbow will make me stand down?"

I saw him slightly twitch at this. At first I thought that my nonchalant demeanour was the reason for his reaction. Then, negating my suppositions, he said with incredulity, "Yer...yer a woman."

_Not this shit again._

I turned around to face him this time with no reservation. With a sarcastic look upon my countenance, I shrugged my shoulders and replied with, "Oh, no! You caught me!"

He licked his bottom lip from side to side, then pressed his mouth shut. A bolt of confidence raced through him, and he shot a warning arrow a meter from my feet. My heart jumped at the act, though I tried my best not to physically react to the exhibition of aggression. Instead, I kept his stern gaze and didn't move an inch.

Without taking his eyes off my form, he loaded another bolt from a quiver strapped on his back and promptly pointed the weapon towards me once more. His voice became as stern as his look. "Is the Governor with ye now? How many of ye are there?"

"Governor?" I repeated, furrowing my brows. "The fuck are you talking about?"

His stance wavered again. "Don't play stupid with me."

"Look, Robin Hood...like I said, I don't know what you're talking about." My temper was already acting up, and I had only met this guy for a few seconds. "Some soldiers and I spotted the prison and are here to take the undead out, alright? We don't mean harm to the living, however many of you there are. We just need a place to..."

"Sorry, darlin', but ye and yer soldiers aren't welcome here. The place is full."

"For the love of God, it's a fucking prison!" I cried, unleashing the temperament that I was so famous for. I surged a few steps forward, flailing my arm. "You have hundreds of people in there already? And yet you and your hundreds _still_ couldn't take out the goddamn..."

I trailed off when I discerned a tiny red dot zigzagging near my feet. My eyes shot to the man in front of me. His face had changed from anger to uncertainty, and I could see his gaze alternating between me and something in the distance behind me. "Stop moving." He hissed through gritted teeth, and somewhat pointed his bow to my side. "Stop moving _now_, if ye know what's good for ye."

For some reason, and against my better judgement, I did as he had said. Though we were both completely still, I lowered my eyes to the moving laser. As my gaze followed it, I noticed that it originated from a watchtower directly to my right.

I cursed inwardly.

The man met my eyes for a brief second, completely dropped his crossbow, and yelled, "Rick, wait!"

A shot fired.

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**A/N: **You want more, don't you? =P hahaha xx IFHD


	2. Welcome

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Thank you to those who have read and supported this story thus far. Really appreciate it! Special thanks to **jouetdedestin**, **CreepyDaisy**, and **Kxxx** for their reviews. Hope you like this next installment! xx IFHD

3 3 3

**Chapter 2: Welcome**

The gun's blast triggered my sudden reaction, and I instinctively ducked for cover. Despite this attempt, a bullet whizzed to my left, grazed my upper arm, then and plunged itself into the muddied earth a few meters from my feet. The man jerked back, and I let out a curse as pain surged through my body. A moment of silence passed after the single bullet almost attempted to permanently burrow itself into my body. As I prepared myself for another shot, we heard a faint:

"Daryl? What's going on over there?"

I slightly stood, holding onto my arm. My eyes shot from the watchtower to the man in front of me. At first, I was hoping this was going to be a peaceful negotiation; but, seeing as I had been shot at first - and injured at that - then any sign of hostility towards me clearly warranted hostility in return. I gripped my gun with my good arm and hissed through gritted teeth, "Your friend, _Daryl_, should _not_ have done that."

As if on cue, my platoon spread out onto the field and opened fire, with the closest soldier to us being about fifty meters away. Their guns were aimed directly at the watchtower, with sparks from bullets hitting steel lighting up the cramped compartment.

The scene caught my attention for a brief moment. I quickly realized that turning my back on this Daryl character was a bad idea, because before I drew another breath, I found myself being tackled. I lost the grip on my gun and tumbled to the ground, violently smashing my head on a miniature rock outcropping. Even through my helmet, I felt the wave of the impact reverberate through my head, neck, and upper body. I grunted in pain once more. Daryl, with as much agility as he could muster, pinned my body down with his knees and threateningly pointed his crossbow at me once more.

This time, the arrow was mere centimeters from my nose.

"Call yer fuckin' men off!" he yelled, visibly trembling.

I threw him a stern look and gestured to my arm. "Your man shot first."

He increased the pressure of his body upon mine, making pain shoot through my torso. "Ye really want an arrow to yer face, don't ye?"

I could see that his eyes were blazing, devoid of any hesitation or remorse. It was at that point that I took his threat seriously.

Before I could weigh my options, however, I heard through the firefight:

"Get the fuck off of her!"

Daryl instantly tensed, and his eyes darted towards the coming soldier. As he approached with caution, Greg had his gun directly pointed to Daryl's head. The two men stared each other down; the crossbow remained smiling at my face.

"I'll get the fuck off 'er when ye and yer men fuck off." Daryl sneered, repositioning himself above me and gripping his weapon tighter.

Greg snarled. "We let off when you get off."

I groaned.

_This shit was starting to sound too poetic._

To expedite the negotiation, I simply commanded: "Stand down, Greg. That goes for the other soldiers as well."

"But Lieutenant..."

"Stand. Down." I said more firmly. "There might be innocent civilians in there."

Greg hesitated for a moment, then finally lowered his gun. He yelled for the others to stand down and quickly radioed the rest of the men to do the same. In a few seconds, guns became silent, and all that could be heard were the moans and groans of the undead that remained unscathed through the firefight. However, what didn't relent was the tension that remained between me, Daryl, and Greg. Greg continued to hold on to his gun tightly while Daryl's goddamn arrow was still pointed at my face.

I inclined my head and met Daryl's stare. "Get. The fuck. Off me."

The son of a bitch dared to give me a half smile as he said, "Ain't gonna do that, cause yer men haven't fucked off yet." With his eyes still locked upon mine, Daryl directed to Greg, "If ye want yer Lieutenant alive, then ye and yer little band of soldiers best be gettin' the hell away from here _now_."

"Why you son of a..."

"Greg." With a firm shake of my head, I motioned towards the road from whence we came. "Move out. Tell the Colonel and the rest of the soldiers as well. That's an order."

Greg's inner battle was obvious by this point. With a snarl etched upon his square face, his body trembled with anger. When he reached his decision, he let out an expletive, then said before running back to the platoon: "NMLB, Louise."

A rush of pride flooded my veins then.

NMLB. 'No man left behind.'

These soldiers better keep their promise.

As I watched Greg and the rest of the men retreat back to the road, I finally felt the pressure of Daryl's body lift from mine. When my captor stood, I could hear the close crackle of rocks being crushed by tires. I twisted my head to the left and saw an oncoming pickup truck heading directly towards us.

Still readied to use his weapon, Daryl kicked my gun meters from us, then roughly gripped the front of my vest and hauled me up to my feet. With a shove upon my upper back towards the vehicle, he commanded: "Move."

3 3 3

"...so I told 'em to move out."

"And you brought her _here_?"

"Call it our collateral."

I stood in between Daryl and Rick (whose stubbled, thin face I burned into my memory as the man who tried to kill me) as the former man retold the story of what had occurred just a few minutes earlier. As the conversation progressed, Rick eyed me with little interest, appearing to be torn between Daryl's decision of using me as a bargaining chip and his most recent decision of bringing me into the prison. When the two men finished addressing one another, Rick took a couple of steps towards me and met my stare. His light eyes, though calculating, bore only a minute amount of threat.

"Where is the Governor?"

A tinge of annoyance burned inside me. Another question about this goddamn 'governor'. "For the last fucking time, I don't know who the hell you're talking about!"

Rick's temple slightly throbbed at my response. "And Woodbury is..."

"...also unfamiliar to me." I finished for him. "Now, release me or..."

My speech trailed off. I felt myself waver slightly in my stance. The two men tensed at this, then eyed one another. Upon seeing the wound on my left arm, Rick had the nerve to ask: "Daryl, has she been bitten?"

Before Daryl could even open his mouth to reply, I spat, "No. You fucking shot me, you asshole!"

Rick's brows furrowed at the realization, and a slight look of wonder passed through his countenance. He even looked somewhat apologetic. Though, pushing aside that matter, he stated: "Looks like you've lost a lot of blood."

I snorted as I fell to my knee. "Yeah, no thanks to _you_."

Rick squared his jaw at this, though ultimately ignored it. He turned to Daryl instead. "Take her to one of the empty cells in D block. I'll ask Hershel to take a look at her arm."

By this point, I felt even more faint and looked paler than a ghost. I saw flashes of Daryl's face, then felt him wrap my right arm around his shoulders and pull me to my feet. He mumbled a 'can't believe I'm fuckin' doin' this' before practically dragging me and my wobbling legs towards the adjacent cell block. With his free arm, he pulled the cell door open and began to sidestep inside. He released me somewhat gently and allowed me to function on my own when my body hit the rough mattress. I was about to negotiate for my release once more when I heard his fading footsteps, then the harsh clang of the prison door shutting.

"Y-you're...you're keeping me in here?" I said breathily, peering sideways at him.

"Trust me - inside this cell is the safest place ye can be." He pursed his lips into a thin line. "It's best that ye don't complain, given yer circumstances. Yer lucky Rick's allowin' Hershel to look at yer wound."

I threw him a tired look. "I'll be sure to thank your doctor for fixing up a wound caused by one of your own."

He threw me a laconic brow, then let out a snort. "Actually, he's a veterinarian."

Though he saw my appalled expression, Daryl simply threw me a mocking smile, turned on his heel, and left.


	3. Captured

**Chapter 3: Captured**

After a few passing minutes, my cell door rolled and clanked open once more. This time, a white-haired man in crutches, who appeared to be in his sixties or seventies, calmly made his way inside. Upon closer inspection of his form, I discerned the reason for his crutches: a missing portion of his right leg. The sight didn't alarm me, given the horrors I've seen in the past, but made me curious as to what exactly happened to him. We both remained silent as he moved closer and inspected my form in return.

"My name is Hershel," he introduced cordially as he looked down upon me. If he had been briefed by either Rick or Daryl about what exactly happened and who I was - and had any reservations towards aiding me - he didn't show it. The older man even smiled, baring teeth. "I'm here to look at your wound."

"I'm Louise," I replied weakly. "So you're the vet."

"Would you rather me be the other kind of vet?" he gestured to my uniform. "We'd probably have a lot more in common if I were."

I managed a small smile at his humour. "Well, I don't know if an army vet would know as much as an animal vet about _treating_ flesh wounds."

By this point, I had managed to sit myself up, using my right elbow to prop myself a few inches from the mattress. I had trouble removing my vest and jacket at first; but, with a little help from Hershel and placing more resistance to the pain, we managed to succeed. Now in only my green t-shirt, we could both see the severity of the wound and the reason why I had lost so much blood. The bullet had only managed to graze my arm, but it was enough to render a horizontal, gaping cut several inches below my shoulder.

I winced and moved my arm upwards to get a better look. "I'll need stitches."

"Yes, you will." Hershel gave a nod, then twisted his head towards the entrance of the cell. "Daryl?"

Almost instantly, we heard his quickening footsteps echoing through the empty cell block. When Daryl appeared, he was armed with his crossbow once more, readied to take a shot. He surveyed my form, then looked at the older man. "Hershel? Everything alright?"

Hershel raised his hand and made a placating gesture. "Yes, yes everything is fine."

"Sorry. Thought she died and turned."

I narrowed my eyes at him and hissed under my breath: "Asshole."

Waving all of this off, the vet said, "I'll need some more clean fabric - whatever you can find. She'll need stitches and her wound dressed."

It didn't take long until everything was prepared for the minor surgery. Hershel kindly asked me to lie down and relax, then sat down on the mattress at my side. As I attempted to make myself comfortable in supine position, Daryl's form loomed over me. I sent him a questioning glance. In answer, he merely tossed me a rolled up piece of cloth. "Something to bite on," he said simply.

I gave him a nod in thanks and took his advice.

It's true that I've stared death right in the face - and today was clearly no exception - but if there was one thing I most hated in the world, it was needles. Prickly little fucks. Couldn't take the sight of them being injected into my body at all - not even for a mere tetanus shot. So, when Hershel was ready to make the first poke, I quickly turned my head away.

"Scared of a little needle, Lieutenant?" came Daryl's sing-song voice, followed by a snicker.

Annoyance quickly surged through me, and I spat out the cloth to retort, "Oh, fuck you, Daryl!"

Hershel shot Daryl a disapproving look, almost as a father scolding his son. "Daryl, you're not helping the situation!" I felt the vet pat my side. "Just relax, Louise. Not good to tense up your arm."

"Lemme know how long it takes her to faint, doc," Daryl continued unrelentingly as he retreated, "Imma go out for a ride."

_Fuckin' Daryl._

3 3 3

I had no idea how long the surgery took, because almost as soon as Hershel began, I found myself falling asleep. I did _not_ faint, as Daryl supposed; the fatigue of the past few weeks, coupled with everything that had happened that day, took a toll on me. Even the hard prison mattress felt so soothing beneath my aching form. So, unable to control my body any longer, sleep finally engulfed me.

When I awoke, it was the middle of the night. As I oriented myself, I instantly felt the throbbing pain of my arm. It had become somewhat numb, but there were still instances of shooting pain once in a while. My arm had been expertly bandaged, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped, despite my tourniquet being bloody. I had to thank Hershel if I ever saw him again; a festering wound these days would have been just as deadly as a bite from the undead.

I waited for a moment to discern any movement around me. Silence. Guided by only moonlight peeking from windows high above the wall across from my cell, my eyes caught sight of a cup, a pack of crackers, and a lone potato on a plate. I somehow managed to sit up completely without much pain. I took in my nourishment, thankful once more that these people were kind enough to take food from their rations and feed me as well. Feeling my strength quickly return, I forced myself to stand up. I wobbled and felt blood quickly rush to my head, but I gritted my teeth, hauled my clothes over my right shoulder, and walked towards the cell door.

Unlocked.

I pried it open, attempting to make as little noise as possible. There was no one in my immediate surroundings. Finding that my steps were quickening, I raced towards C block - the only safe place I knew of in this prison - made a sharp left, and moved as quickly as I could manage towards the front door exit. By this point, I was certain that this was the route that I had come from when Daryl and an Asian man had hauled me inside, so my spirits were instantly elevated.

...Until I found out that the front door was entirely locked.

I pounded at the door in frustration.

"Guess I gotta remind ye that it's a prison."

That familiar voice rang through my ears. I shut my eyes and exhaled my frustration. I kept my back turned to him. "Give me the keys, Daryl."

"Ain't it a little late for ye to be goin' out for a stroll?"

I whirled to face him. I was right when I hypothesized that his crossbow would be pointed at me, but what I had _not_ hypothesized was seeing what he was carrying in his left arm. I was dumbfounded for a moment, jaw literally hanging open. After a few more seconds, I managed, "Is that...is that a baby?"

Daryl didn't reply. He merely readjusted his grip on both the infant and his weapon. He gave her a light peck on the forehead when she started to fuss. She instantly quieted down. As she did so, he turned his attention back to me. "Get back to yer cell."

"Daryl?"

A woman's distressed voice called out from behind him. He slightly twisted his head to face her. My eyes followed the sound of the voice and caught sight of a thinning, light-skinned woman. Her equally light hair was fashioned as short as a buzz cut, her light eyes filling with worry as she surveyed the scene unfolding before her. She pulled her sweater more tightly around her body when she cautiously approached Daryl.

"Take her." Daryl said in a low tone, turning so that the woman could get hold of the child. The woman quickly took the bundle in her hands and, without even a second look at me, dashed back into C block. She ensured to lock the door behind her, then tossed the keys back to Daryl, who caught them expertly.

I was becoming sick and tired of Daryl's goddamn crossbow being pointed at me, so I finally raised my hands up in surrender. "Look. I've told you before that my soldiers and I were not given orders to take this place and hurt the people within it. Our platoon came from Fort Benning, Georgia; we were based there until hordes overtook it. We're all exhausted and hungry and have been on the road, fighting for our lives, for months. We just came by the prison and, just like you, needed a place to stay for a while." By this point, Daryl's crossbow somewhat lowered, though not entirely. I persisted, "I don't know who this Governor is, or whatever Woodbury is - but what I _do_ know is I do not plan to harm you, your child, your wife...or anyone else that's here with you. I'm even grateful that you helped and fed me. I just need to get back to my platoon...to _my_ family. I can tell them to move on, and we'll be out of your hairs permanently."

Daryl stared at me for what seemed like forever. When he finally made his decision, he took the arrow off of the crossbow and slung the weapon around his shoulders once more. "Okay," he said simply. "But yer leavin' in the mornin'."

I took a few steps forward in alarm. "No!" I protested, gesturing towards the northern perimeter. "It's been hours since I've left. Who knows what they're planning, and..."

Daryl let out a scoff, then placed his arrow back in his quiver. "'Hours'? Jesus. Is that how long you think you've been out?"

I looked at him wide-eyed. "W-what do you mean?"

"Ye've been asleep for almost a couple of days, Lieutenant."

"..._What_?"

He kept my harsh stare and took a few steps towards me. "Believe it or not, it's true. Now, either ye wait till mornin' so that ye can actually see where yer goin' and where the livin' dead are around ye, or ye go out there right now and take yer chances. Yer life, yer decision."

Without another word, Daryl strolled back to C-block's entrance and allowed himself inside. He gave me one last, stern look, locked the gate, and disappeared into the shadows.


End file.
